


drawn to the flame

by canticle



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Loyalty, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Kink, Spoilers, gueira likes a man who could squash him like a bug, implied gueira/meis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 06:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21049982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canticle/pseuds/canticle
Summary: It's a long drive towards the foot of the volcano. Gueira spends it thinking.





	drawn to the flame

**Author's Note:**

> _we’re nocturnal creatures, drawn to the flames_  
_and the morning doesn’t reach us, well, not until we want it to, want it to_ \- _nocturnal creatures,_ bastille
> 
> HI PROMARE FANDOM I LOVE YOU  
this isn't at all what i meant to post first, i've been working on a fic since literally the first time i watched it (i've seen it six times since then and loved each viewing as much as the first) but it's blown up into a huge monstrosity that i really want to linger and take care of, and this just sprang forth fully formed from my brow yesterday so. SO. i've wanted to play in this sandbox SO BAD i love lio. i love lio so much and gueira is so good too, all of the mad burnish are but i have a thing for loyalty and gueira's loyalty is SQUARE. ON. LIO. 
> 
> please enjoy!!!

  


The adrenaline doesn’t leave him, not ever. Not even through that long, awful, endless drive through the empty desert with Fotia leading them onward, onward, ever onward. He and Meis are fast, faster than anyone except Fotia himself; they drive endless circles around the perimeter of the remaining Mad Burnish, an uneasy paranoid patrol, waiting to hear the motors of the Freeze Force vehicles swoop down from above, start up from an ambush in front of them. 

It doesn’t happen. There’s nothing but the silent desert and the barest silver glow from the wedge of the moon, and the shadows that kick up at every angle from the flames of his bike.

Gueira’s never been one for introspection; he’s always leapt before he looked, never thought before he acted. They’d been doing okay, he’d thought; they’d kept their Burnish alive and fed and watered and _ safe, _ they _ had, _but— something had gone wrong. They’d burned Promepolis before, they’d hit and hit and hit and only run when it was over, doing just what the flames told them, losing themselves in the ecstasy of ignition. Hell, they’d even clashed with Burning Rescue before, but… 

He grits his teeth and revs his engine a little harder, pushing himself faster, flying across the hard-baked sand. It’s not his fault. Not Meis’s fault. Not that pretty little scientist from the Foresight Foundation, either. Just… Bad luck, and awful timing from Freeze Force. They’ve gotten clever, them and that asshole Vulcan. It was only a matter of time.

But Fotia! If Fotia had been with them the whole time, they could’ve taken those icy bastards out in a heartbeat! Fotia’s stronger than them all put together, Fotia could’ve done it. Fotia could’ve saved them, if he was faster. If Gueira had been cleverer. If they’d stuck together, and not gone baiting Vulcan without looking back. 

Fotia could have done it. 

He’s shared flames with Meis before, shared flames with everyone they took into their little runaway band. They’re way too far apart to feel their sparks, of course; he’d lost them as soon as they crossed the horizon. Even now he can barely feel Meis, wheeling out far behind them, tracking lazily back and forth across the scrub. He can see the barest pinprick of blue fire every now and then, the equidistant point on the diameter of the circle they’re scribing around the rest of the Burnish. And around Fotia. Gueira can still feel them, of course, can almost count every pinprick of flames without turning his head. 

He could, he _ would _, if it wasn’t for Fotia.

Sharing flames is a small thing, something personal. Sometimes accidental, with a fresh Burnish, or intentional, controlled. Intimate. More than intimate, if you make it that way. But _ small, _ like a campfire, bringing warmth and comfort and _ knowing. _

Sharing flames with Fotia was like… tossing a lit match into a forest fire. Fotia’s flames consumed his own and Meis’s, launching up from their hands and twining towards the stars like they longed to become one. Fotia’s ambition spread over him like a blanket, and Gueira had known everything he said about making a Burnish city, about keeping them _ safe, _to be true. Fotia’s urge to protect is kin to his own and Meis’s in the same way a tiger is kin to a housecat. 

Gueira and Meis tried their best to keep everyone safe. Fotia has the power to _ do it _. 

The adrenaline still courses through him, even now, hours later, lingering in the pit of his stomach like embers and keeping him warm in the bleak desert night. Fotia blazes bright enough to all but overshadow the rest of the Burnish, a nexus of flame that he spirals endlessly around, a gravity well that he can’t help but want to tumble down into. 

The way he shot down Gueira’s flame, his power crystallized into something white-hot and pointed, pinning it to the ground. The way he single handedly drove off Vulcan and the Freeze Force with a wall of fire so big and powerful, it’s unimaginable. Maybe, _ maybe _ together he and Meis could produce something that impressive. _ Maybe. _Fotia could do it for hours, for days. He could do it no matter what it took. 

The thought joins the heat still in Gueira’s stomach, and even the cold air whipping his cheeks can’t stop the flush rising to his face. Meis calls him a simple thing, affectionately, and he’s not wrong. It doesn’t mean he’s _ stupid, _ not in the slightest, but...he’s always been drawn to power. It’s not _ just _because Meis can beat him in hand-to-hand combat that they’ve banded together, but it’s part of it. Lio Fotia could wipe the floor with him without batting an eye, and instead saved him from the jaws of Freeze Force themselves.

He doesn’t look like much, if you’re not looking. Short and unassuming, until you see his eyes. They’re like fire themselves. Gueira has to suppress a shiver, and turns his attention back to his patrol, cresting the top of a sand dune and coming to a sharp halt.

They’ve been drawing closer and closer to the volcanoes far past the outskirts of Promepolis proper, and the dune he’s stopped on slopes down and down and _ down _into the shadow of the largest. There in the distance are a pair of sturdy enclosures propped up on pillars, with what looks like plenty of room to expand. He’s the foreguard right now; the others are still close to half a mile behind him, but from this height he can see nearly every corner of the valley, and there’s nothing but the far-off flashes of Burnish motorbikes weaving in and out of the pillars and all around the area in a clear watch pattern.

He can feel Fotia and the others drawing closer, Meis putting on a burst of speed to catch up with everyone else. They settle on the ridge with him, spreading out into long, flanking lines, Fotia coming up to his left in a spray of sand. “What is this?” Gueira asks him, unable to look away for long.

“A refuge,” Fotia says in his low, deep voice, barely audible over the purr of his bike. “A safe place. We’ve been here for years; they haven’t thought to look so close to the volcanos. We’ll regroup for a bit here, and make a plan to get the rest of the Burnish back.”

“Is there space for us?” Meis asks, gesturing to the few dozen Mad Burnish that remain. 

Fotia tilts his head towards the compound. “Space and then some. We have food and shelter for everyone who needs it. Come on. They’ll be putting the children to bed soon, and we try not to disturb them afterwards. Some of them have had it rough. They’re just starting to settle down and feel safe again, and waking them up is counterproductive.”

Without another word, he tilts the massive wheel of his bike over the edge into empty air and guns it. Gueira catches a hot flash of joy from him as he hangs in midair for what feels like ages, before he hits the downward flank of the dune and kicks a fishtail of sand sky-high.

With a whoop, he follows. 

The next few hours are chaotic; he meets dozens of Burnish, sharing flames with the ones Fotia instructs him to, feeling them flare up bright on his internal radar until he can sense dozens of points all throughout the building and beyond. They crest in and drop out as they move beyond the limits of what he can feel, but Fotia— it’s clear he’s shared with every single person in the compound, and through him Gueira can almost feel them as well. It’s more of a low background warmth than anything, a sleepy, contented sort of hum. 

It feels _ safe _here. He can see some of the stress sloughing off of Meis’s shoulders, off the rest of their Mad Burnish crew as they join in, linking themselves into the patrols. Fotia takes them through the building personally, and Gueira paces along beside him, pinging off of his awareness of Meis until he can feel the length and breadth of his new territory. 

It’s safe, but Gueira still can’t relax.

There’s embers guttering low and slow inside him every time he catches his gaze drifting over to Fotia. Every lick of firelight glints off the leather of his outfit; it’s like the light wants to wrap around his limbs until he’s a beacon. Each and every step is deliberate. Every Burnish they pass turn to watch him, waving, nodding, acknowledging his presence. It’s because of him, personally, that they’re all here.

In this building, he reigns. 

It dries Gueira’s mouth, even as desire sends a hot flare up his spine. Power without effort, respect that runs through this conclave’s bones, through the building and the valley itself. Not just physical, but social, political. 

He’s not the kind of person that wants to pay deference, but Fotia makes him want to drop to his knees without a second thought. 

Now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t stop. Fotia’s an unignorable presence even when he’s not in direct view; Gueira can sense him moving around the building like a mobile sun, pacing every corner of this building and the other as he and Meis and the rest of their Burnish (all Fotia’s now, aren’t they, and doesn’t that make him feel something hot and electric?) eat a long-overdue meal. 

With everyone else sated and stretched out, he rises, giving Meis some excuse he knows he doesn’t believe. It’s okay; Meis knows him, almost better than Gueira knows himself. He probably knows what Gueira wants to do before Gueira does.

He finds Fotia half-tucked behind a slab of rubble, not too far from their cookfire, watching everyone else eat. “Gueira,” he acknowledges without looking, the fire outlining the sharp lines of his profile, haloing him in light. “How are you settling in?” 

“Well enough,” he says, hunkering down to watch as well. One of his Burnish was clipped by an ice bullet during the skirmish and had lagged during the ride; he’d watched her eat three bowls of stew and collapse like a puppet with her strings cut, curled up against two others. They look tired. None of them seem like they have the same fire burning inside them that he does. “Did you eat?” 

He watches Fotia blink, the curve of his lashes like pale fire against shadowed skin. “Once everyone else is finished, I will.” 

“That won’t do, Boss.” The honorific drops out of his mouth unconsciously as he pulls one of the granola bars he’d been given out of his pocket, tossing it to him. Fotia catches it without looking. Gueira swallows. “This whole place is yours, isn’t it? How’re you gonna keep them safe if you’re not keepin’ your own strength up?”

Fotia blinks, flipping the bar through his fingers. “Boss?” he says, one side of his mouth curling up.

“Fotia.” 

The smile grows. “Call me Lio. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.” He shifts; one of his legs drops off the wall as he stretches, and even though it’s just a piece of broken concrete it fits him like a throne.

“Fotia,” he says, and then “_ Lio,” _and Lio’s eyes finally move to him, rake over him, consume him entirely and leave him alight. He’s skied on the fire, burning from the inside out, and Lio’s heavy gaze does nothing to quench his desire.

He watches Lio’s lips part, sees the hint of flames glowing in his throat, off his teeth and tongue. “Ah,” he says, like Gueira’s surprised him, done something unexpected but not unwelcome. “I see.” It’s all but permission for Gueira to come tumbling closer, for Gueira to reach out and then stop, his hands hanging uselessly in the air until Lio grabs them, draws him a step closer. “You’re still burning, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah.” 

One of Lio’s hands strokes up his jacket, fists in his lapel and drags him a step closer, until there’s barely any space between their bodies. His other cups Gueira’s face, the leather somehow cool against his skin. He’s like a supernova, all that power compacted so small, like the birth of a star. It’s exhilarating. He wants to drop to his knees, but Lio’s hands don’t let him move that far. Instead he stretches— and what a realization, it astounds him every time he thinks about it that Lio is shorter than him— and grips a fistful of Gueira’s hair tight in his fist. 

Gueira doesn’t even try to stifle his moan, doesn’t try to hide the way he quivers and bends. He’s always been weak to displays of power, shows of force. Lio’s mouth quirks up, just a bit. “Come here, Gueira,” he says, his mouth full of fire. “Burn with me.” 

His lips press against Gueira’s mouth. He exhales; Gueira inhales, and Lio’s flames slither inside him, fill him until he’s incandescent, until he’s a single jet of flame reaching for the sky, dancing among the stars.

He’s breathless even more when Lio’s tongue follows, steady and skillful, dominating every corner of Gueira’s mouth. He gives no quarter, takes no prisoners; when he finally pulls back, Gueira’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been in his life, and every single atom in his body thrums to the pulse of Lio’s fire. 

“What do you want, Gueira?” Lio asks him, so firm and steady, all but holding him upright. 

Gueira’s mouth doesn’t consult with his brain as he blurts “Can I suck you off?” 

The laugh he gets, short and sharp and bright, makes him go red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Yes,” Lio says, fingers curling through his hair, stroking his bangs off his face, “I think I would like that very much.” 

He doesn’t have to ask Gueira to kneel; Gueira’s already on his knees between Lio’s wide-spread thighs, staring up at him. He’s backlit, his face almost completely in shadow except for his incandescent eyes and the luminous glow behind his teeth. From this angle he looks mountainous, as sturdy as any of the pillars holding this building up, like a foundation of the world. He can feel himself thrum to the drum of Lio’s fingers against the concrete, Lio's cheek resting on his curled hand, watching. Waiting. 

He’s done this before, but not like this, not this desperate to please, not this eager to prove himself. He and Meis have always been on equal footing in every respect. He and Lio… not in the slightest, and that makes Gueira shudder, and again at the sight of pale skin framed by midnight-dark leather, the exposed strip of stomach and thatch of pale hair and slim hard cock.

Somewhere across the compound he can feel Meis’s fire spark with bright interest. He’s laughing, Gueira knows he’s laughing, and he can laugh all he wants. He’ll get raked over the coals later, he’s sure, but that’s for later. For now is edging forward, sliding his fingers between Lio’s loose grasp on his cock, and licking a stripe up it from the base to the tip.

It’s almost overwhelming, the bright spark of Lio in front of him, the watchful Mad Burnish circling, circling, the sleepy contentment of the compound a soft blanketing background hum, and Gueira himself blazing, blazing, taking Lio down into his throat with sloppy, overeager enthusiasm. He barely feels the concrete digging into his knees, barely notices Lio’s hand tightening and relaxing in his hair, guiding his motions. He’s drunk on exhilaration, walking the tightrope seconds from complete combustion. He wants to burn, and he _ is, _and Lio’s burning too, he can feel Lio’s pleasure skittering bright-hot-electric under his skin, building as he hollows his cheeks and ducks his head further down, feeds Lio’s cock into his mouth, laps around the head. 

Lio’s mostly silent, but Gueira feels it when his pleasure crests; it’s like a wave of fire rolling over him, blanketing him in heat, pinprick fires lighting and extinguishing themselves almost simultaneously. Lio’s hand drags him in, holds him in place as his hips jerk once-twice-three times, thrusting into Gueira’s mouth and then keeping him firmly in place as he comes, filling Gueira’s mouth with bitter salt and Gueira’s mind with satisfaction.

He swallows, and coughs, and pulls off just far enough to press his forehead into Lio’s thigh, quivering in satisfaction, barely aware of his aching hard-on until Lio shifts just enough to press one booted toe into his crotch. He gasps, and Lio presses harder, and there’s a quick-hot burst of flames against the nape of his neck accompanied with an overwhelming wave of pure _ Lio— _

He comes harder than he has or, he hazily thinks, ever will in a thousand lifetimes.

Some unknown amount of time later, spent drifting as Lio’s fingers comb slowly through his hair, he senses someone approach. Lio doesn’t move, so neither does Gueira, sunken into the same state of sleepy satiation as the rest of the compound. He catches who it is a moment later— just Meis, so even less reason to move.

“There you are,” Meis says, like he’d have any trouble picking Gueira out of a crowd from the far end of the compound. “Should’ve known.” Of course he already new, jackass. Stop making fun of him from there.

“Did you want to share too, Meis?” Lio asks, fingers still petting through Gueira’s hair. Gueira can hear the laughter in his voice.

Footsteps crunch through rubble; Meis’s boots come into view. When he speaks, he sounds like he’s laughing too. “Think one of us has to be coherent tonight, Boss.” 

“‘M coherent!” Gueira complains, but doesn’t move. Now Meis laughs, soft and low, making Gueira the butt of the shared joke between them. That’s okay, though. He tilts his head just enough to see Lio stretch his hand out, to watch Meis step into their circle and bend obligingly down, to observe the flames crackling in Lio’s mouth skitter across Meis’s face as they kiss. 

“Boss,” Lio repeats, rolling the word around in his mouth. 

Gueira nods, patting the inside of his thigh with a still-wobbly hand. “You’re the boss,” he nods. “We’ll follow you anywhere.” 

He makes a thoughtful noise. “Then lets burn, all of us. With the both of you by my side, we’ll make this a safe space for all the Burnish. We won’t let them put us out.” 

  


He keeps Lio’s words tight to his chest as they raise the barrier against the Freeze Force vehicle, creating something with Meis he never would have thought to before Lio showed him everything that could be done. “Your flames are invincible!” he howls, as he digs down and holds the barrier, as Meis rotates the launcher towards Fennel Volcano. As long as he lives, the Burnish flames will never die. 

He’s safe, as safe as he can be, far from the Foresight Foundation’s thousands of grasping hands. No matter where he lands, he’ll heal, and then he’ll get free, and he’ll come for the rest of them.

Gueira knows this, down to his bones.

He’ll wait as long as it takes.

**Author's Note:**

> _let every night play out the same, cause i wouldn’t, i wouldn’t change a thing_
> 
> my promare twitter is [at @DoFirefighters!](https://twitter.com/DoFirefighters) come yell with me there i have so much in store!!


End file.
